Multiple Choice
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: My annual monologue for Mark Hamill's birthday - this time, the Clown Prince of Crime narrates his thoughts on his origin stories. Happy 67th birthday to the one and only Joker :-)


**Multiple Choice  
**

Shrinks always ask me, what was it that made me into me? Was it one bad day? Was it an encounter with a certain Bat-bully over a vat of crazy chemicals? Who was I before I became the happy soul I am today? Was I a normal guy with a family? Was I a depressed loser brooding on the dark insanity of the world before a permanent smile was forced onto my face? Was I always just a bad guy, a criminal, whose encounter with Batman just made me see the funny side of crime?

Well, the truth is, none of that matters. I know superheroes are big on origin stories, and a lotta supervillains have dark and tragic beginnings, like Mr. Freeze and his wife-sicle. He uses what happened to him as an excuse – he's not really a bad guy, he's just breaking the law for what he sees as a good cause. Probably the same mentality as Batman, actually. He's as crazy as the rest of them, but the problem with all those freaks in Arkham is that they're not actually insane. Oh, they're weirdos, for sure, but they all have backstories, roads that led them to the paths they're on now, explanations that illustrate why they are the way they are. Scarecrow was bullied – now he bullies other people. Ivy fell for a guy who used her as a plant guinea pig, and now she hates men and loves plants. Two-Face used to fight for justice, but now he sees the world as more black and white. The Mad Hatter fell in love with a girl called Alice, who rejected him. Clayface was the world's greatest actor, and now he really is the world's greatest actor. Riddler spent his childhood being bullied because he loved riddles, and apparently learned nothing from it because he carried that freak factor into adulthood. You see, while their methods might not make total sense, they all have good, solid reasons for being who they are. They all have narratives, character arcs, the kinds of things that people use in fiction to try and make sense of the world. Because the world in fiction has to make sense. The real world…well, that's something else. That's crazy and random and nonsensical, and you can't reason it away. Just like me.

But I've always been special. Outta all the supercriminals in this miserable burg, and believe me, there are far, far too many of them, I've always been different. The Bat's number one antagonist, for sure, but also the guy you could never just explain away. Part of my fascination and mystique is the fact that you can't pin me down with one diagnosis, or one backstory, and that's why the shrinks keep obsessing over me, because that's what they like to do. They like to take people and file 'em away with a simple label, but they ain't never gonna be able to file away the Joker, and frankly, I kinda resent anyone who tries. I'm an entertainer by nature, trying to constantly amuse a captive audience, and believe me, it takes a lot to keep inventing interesting backstory after interesting backstory. But it's worth it to watch the joy in some gullible moron's eyes when they finally think they've cracked the Joker, when they finally think they're the ones I've told the real truth to. I mean, you should have seen Harley and how taken in she was – she was like a kid at Christmas. I gave her a good one too, a real sobfest, abusive father, absent mother, encouraging her to cast Batman as the father figure bully who just keeps abusing me, just the thing to sucker in a sweet, sympathetic gal like her. I mean, in that case, the entertainment was part of a wider plan to get her to bust me outta Arkham by making her fall in love with me, and damn, did I do a bang-up job on that. Some would say to be careful what you wish for.

Anyway, she understands now. For the longest time she didn't, she couldn't overcome her shrink instincts, and she was desperate to hear the truth from me. She tried everything – threatening to leave, threatening to stay, trying to seduce me, not trying to seduce me. But then one day she realized that there is no truth. Not _one_ truth, anyway. I don't have an origin story – I have hundreds, each one as true as I believe it to be at the time. Some days I feel like I might have been a family guy, with a wife and kids, doing the whole 9-5 routine. And other days I think I must have always been the kinda guy who disregards the law, the kinda guy with no respect for nothing and no one. But the truth is, unless I'm dealing with shrinks or other people who are too curious for their own good, I don't think about it a lot. I'm not one of those nostalgic guys who looks back on the past with rose-tinted glasses – my past doesn't have any bearing at all on my present or future. Whoever I was, I'm the Joker now, and I'm happy to be him. He was born that night at Ace Chemicals, and whether he was there because of some heist or if he was some sucker who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, it doesn't matter, because he died that night the Joker was born. And nobody cares who you really are once you're dead. I know I sure as hell don't.

Think of it like a ride at an amusement park. Nobody cares how you got on the ride, and you definitely ain't thinking about if you took the car or the train to get there while the roller coaster is climbing up that hill. Your heart is racing, your adrenaline's pounding, and in the back of your mind, you're enjoying the sensation that the thrill is about to start - the thrill of life and death, the idea that you might die at any moment, and how exciting it feels to be living in that moment. Now imagine if, in the middle of that ride, instead of enjoying the shrieking and screaming and thrill, some idiot leans over and asks, "So, how did you get here?"

You'd shove him outta the car, right? And you'd be right to do so. Nobody wants boring questions like that in the middle of a ride. And that's what my life is, the greatest thrill ride ever, every night full of twists and turns and shocks and drops and the pulse-pounding thrill of danger. I don't have the time or the inclination to wonder how I got here – I'm too busy enjoying the moment. You're crazy if you don't.

The truth is, I don't know who I used to be. And I don't want to know. It would ruin the joke somehow. Like in the "The Wizard of Oz," when they see that the wizard is just some old guy behind the curtain. It's the same reason I never want to know who Batsy is, because the truth would be a let down. Bats isn't the kinda guy I want an explanation for, or to reason away – he's just a psychopath in a bat costume. Why does he need an origin? It's much more fun if he just appears in Gotham one night, a costumed vigilante beating up randomers. I mean, that's a joke. And same goes for me. The punchline is in the fact I exist, not in how I came to be. That's the kinda explanation that tends to ruin the joke.

Say Batman has a reason for what he does, say someone close to him was killed by criminals and so he vowed to dress up in a bat costume and fight crime in order to make Gotham a safer place. Now that's not funny – that's just tragic and stupid. That ruins the joke, and makes it into something dark and gritty and frankly idiotic. What kind of disturbed individual would actually think like that? Not a hero, that's for sure. But if you don't know how he came to be, if he's just some guy you don't have a backstory for, you can just judge him on his actions, which are hysterically funny. Some random guy decides to dress in a costume and fight crime. What part of that isn't hilarious? And same goes for me – a criminal clown appears in Gotham one night, a clown with a permanent smile and a penchant for violent slapstick. That's hysterical. Who is he and how did he come to be? That's immaterial, and probably not that funny. Why ruin an already great punchline by trying to explain the joke? You got your bat-costumed guy and your clown – no further explanation is needed. You just need to laugh at that joke.

But by all means, you add to my origin stories. I mean, you ain't got one tenth of my talent, creativity, or imagination, and I'm sure your effort is gonna be pretty pathetic in comparison to mine, but you do it. You add to it, you stir the pot, you give me hundreds and thousands of 'em, the more the merrier! Maybe one of 'em is actually the truth, who knows? I certainly don't. But I suspect the truth is that I've always been the Joker, from the day I was born, the day I was first created, if you will. I came into this world as the Joker, and no origin story will ever be able to fully explain me. You just have to love me and accept me as I am, like Harley did eventually. I mean, she's literally crazy for me, and she tells me she never wants me to change, and I tell her she shouldn't worry about that. I've always been the Joker, and I'll always be the Joker. I think that's comforting to a lot of people – in a world of constant chaos and flux, I never change. And why would I? I am pretty great. And greatness is something you're born with, isn't it? Not something you can explain away. It's just part of being the Joker – natural greatness, charm, sense of humor, good looks, intelligence, I could go on, but I won't bore you by listing all my good qualities. We'd be here all night. You already know how great I am, and you want to know how I got to be so great, but that's the joke, isn't it? There aren't any reasons or explanations on how to be me. Maybe that's for the best, so every random loser out there doesn't try and emulate me. Can you imagine pathetic weirdos in clown makeup going around trying to pretend to be the Joker? Now that would be sad.

All you need to know is that in my case, greatness is born, not made. It's like comedy – some of us are born funny, and some of us aren't. It's just part of how we were created, not something that can be learned. In my case, I was created to be the funniest guy in the world, and I am. Batsy's a close second, although he doesn't appreciate it, the poor sap. But he's my double act, and we're the greatest comedic duo the world has ever seen. The Laurel and Hardy of Gotham City, if you will. He's the straight man, and I'm the funny one. And together, we're immortal. And for immortals, there's no beginning or ending – you just are, forever. Just like Batman and the Joker, an unending comedy act who are gonna be fighting each other forever, locked in permanent combat over our equally insane points of view. No beginning, and no end, just eternal. Makes you want to laugh, doesn't it?

 **The End**


End file.
